Page 223 of Those Who Are Bound

“Fuck, Elliott,” he groaned. He was shaking, his free hand gripping the side of her neck lightly. “Fuck.”

When he spilled into her, she struggled to swallow all of him, the spurts of ejaculate choking her as he continued to pump, his gasps and groans thrilling her. Then he pulled himself from her and dropped to his knees, wrappingone arm around her, his mouth on hers.

He was kissing her, his cum still in her mouth, dribbling down her chin, and he was kissing her like he’d never stop. Holding her to him like she was a lost treasure he’d found again after grieving and accepting its loss. The hand in her hair moved to her cheek, his thumb caressing.

Elliott tried to wrap him in her arms, wanting to be as much a part of this moment as she could, but… she was bound, and the ropes chafed. It sent fire through her once again. He got to come, but she was still an inferno of want and need.

She moaned into his mouth and arched against him. Her nipples, she knew, were tight and pointed. There was no way he couldn’t be aware of their demand, even through their clothes.

He chuckled, breaking the kiss. Reaching up, he wiped at her chin. He was looking at her as if she was… well, irreplaceable. The very treasure she’d just likened herself to being. “Lovely prelude to the apology.”

Drawing her brows together in a fierce frown, she sucked at her bottom lip. “What?Prelude?” How many times did he expect to get sucked off today?

He reached between them for the button of her shorts. “Prelude. You aren’t anywhere near finished showing me how sorry you are.”

Well now, if more of her participation was involved and it meant getting naked… she might be more sorry. But she pointed out, “How are you going to get my shirt and bra off with my arms tied behind my back?” As if he’d forgotten, she shimmied her shoulders.

Jonah observed her pointed peaks, admiring them through her shirt, before looking at her again. He said with bemusement. “Are you confused about who the injured party here is? This is all for me, kitten.”

Stunned, she stuttered, “And you… you don’t want to look at my tits?”

He grinned. “You want me to look at them more.” Again, he looked, visually caressing. “Suck them, bite them, touch them.”

Gah, if she hadn’t already been on her knees and there wasn’t already a flood between her thighs… The objects of his attention stiffened painfully, wanting him to do all of that, and more. “Yes,” she whispered.

Meeting her gaze again, he said, “So, I’m not going to.”

She hated how he could so easily control himself to deny her. Before she could protest, though, he gripped the waistband of her shorts and yanked them to her knees. Her panties followed. He noticed the dampened state of them and shot her a pleased, knowing grin.

Pretentious, vainglorious son of a bitch. Although, not pretentious, and every right to be boastful under the circumstances.

He shifted, getting to his feet, bringing her with him. He turned her to face the bed before he knelt behind her, removing the pants and underwear entirely and tossing them aside. The sound of his jeans being removed was transporting.

As she turned to glance behind, to get a peek at the beauty that was naked Jonah, he grasped her shoulders and redirected her to face the bed. “Bend over.”

Elliott looked at the bed. She had no issue with that, except she’d literally faceplant into the covers. “Jonah—”

Hand firmly between her shoulders, he pressed. “Bend. Over.”

She went, burying her face in the comforter, completely exposed to him from this angle. The mattress hit her hips just right, and she couldn’t push up with her arms. Her juices flowed out of her in this position.

He leaned over her, eliciting a shiver from her when his warm skin slid against hers; she was so ready to have him fuck her. But he reached over her head. Looking up, she saw him grab two coils of rope.

Holy fudge monkeys.

…To borrow Lucy’s phrase.

His body slid from her. Literally slid, like a tease, down to the floor behind her. One ankle grabbed, placed in a slipknot, then pulled to the side. She gasped as she slid a fraction toward the bottom of the bed. He repeated it with her other ankle.He was tying her off, legs spread, to the bottom of the bed frame.

Testing it, she discovered there was enough give for her to move her legs about an inch. Enough to feel the yank of the rope when she jerked in response to… stimulus.

She moaned, biting at the comforter. Everything about her was already heightening, begging, pleading, anticipating. If he barely touched her clit, she would come in spectacular fashion.

And he must have sensed it; known it. Refused to give her what she needed and wanted. He was kneeling behind her, she knew, because she could feel his warm breath on her ass, teasing her clit with the moving air.

“Hello, kitty,” he said, breath ragged.

It was so cheesy she laughed. But she choked on it when his finger dipped inside, a slow thrust in and out, then ran her slickness up to its puckered neighbor. She gasped and tried to clench her butt cheeks together. She tried to clamp her legs together, the ropes snapping. She moaned, the sensation overwhelming, reminiscent, and decadent.

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